


we are the next time 'round

by orphan_account



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Asian American Lawyers Verse, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky cries too the day Kristoph Gavin is sentenced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are the next time 'round

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for oblique mentions of death re: kristoph. we don't really get confirmation on what happens to him, but i extrapolated based on how much shit he disturbed.

At 8AM sharp, Apollo's phone starts to ring. It's a call from Mr. Wright, telling him that he doesn't need to come out to the Agency today. He's relieved and reluctant at the same time, but it's an excuse to curl up in bed and avoid today altogether, so Apollo takes it gratefully.

He never imagined that that first trial with Mr. Gavin would have ended up like this, with the taste of guilt lingering in the back of his mouth. And when Mr. Wright says, quietly, “I'm sorry, Apollo”, he pretends not to hear and immediately hangs up. A minute passes where he considers calling him back, because he knows Mr. Wright meant it when he said he was sorry. He doesn't, though; Apollo isn't ready for that yet. He doesn't know when he will be.

Ask anyone on the street about Kristoph Gavin and they will tell you that he deserves his fate, and Apollo knows—that he took a man's life and destroyed another's, hurting countless people in the process. He _knows_ , but it doesn't stop the throbbing in his chest or the aching in his head telling him that _it didn't have to end like this_.

Because, no, Mr. Gavin never did bother with the pretense of overt kindness or amiability, but Apollo always thought of him as being a good man. He did, after all, teach him everything he thought he knew about the law. And despite everything that happened, Apollo does have good memories of his time at Gavin Law Offices: of watching a trial for the first time, of joking with the other interns at lunch, of Mr. Gavin smiling and telling him, in the early hours of the morning, that even defense attorneys can take breaks sometimes. Every morning, after clocking into his day, he would take his seat at the desk by Mr. Gavin's and help him with his caseload. It wasn't perfect, but to Apollo, it felt a little bit like coming home.

When he gets a second call, he groans and rolls over, hoping that if his back is facing the phone, the caller will somehow get the hint. They don't. He reaches for the phone and sees that it's Mr. Wright's number. Grimacing, he answers. “Hello?”

“Polly!” He relaxes, hearing Trucy's voice on the other end. “Daddy told me not to call you, but I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay.” Apollo smiles a little, because he knows, rain or shine, that he can trust Trucy to look out for him.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” he lies. Trucy doesn't say anything for a long moment, like she's trying out her powers of perception over the phone. Apollo honestly wouldn't put it past her.

“Anyway, I know you probably don't feel like talking right now, so I'm going to hang up, but _promise_ _me_ that you'll call me or Daddy before you go to bed tonight.”

His throat tightens and he blinks rapidly, trying to come up with the air to tell her that he will. It takes a moment, but he smiles and says “Yeah, of course.”

“You better!” She does her best to sound threatening. What Apollo would give to hug her right now.

“Trucy...”

“Yeah?”

 _Thank you_.

“...never mind.” He can't bring himself to say it, but somehow he thinks Trucy understands anyway.

She laughs and calls him silly. “Get lots of rest, Apollo. We miss you!”

“I miss you too,” he manages, before Trucy hangs up and leaves him to the silence. Alone.

Apollo has never felt so small in his whole life, and he wishes he knew what to do to make it stop. Thus far, all he's been able to come up with is “roll yourself up into a ball and hope it goes away.” It's worked pretty well for him, but right now, it's really not what he needs. Staring at the phone in his hand, he thinks about calling Trucy back. At least when he talks to Trucy, he doesn't have to think about anything else, and he doesn't even have to lie while doing it.

He's still pondering when he gets the third call. He's startled by the sudden vibration in his hand, and he looks over at his clock only to see that it's barely been five minutes since his last conversation. The annoyance that bubbles up is more than enough to tell him that a phone call is not what he needs either. The world could give him a little break here; Apollo doesn't really think that one day is too much to ask for. Ignoring the call, he shoves the phone under his pillow and gets out of bed, hoping that the sounds of the shower will drown out the Steel Samurai theme song.

He considers gelling his hair back today, but it really seems like way too much effort when all he hopes to accomplish today is bedhead anyway. Wiping the toothpaste off his chin, Apollo brushes through his hair once and collapses back into bed. There were two missed calls and a voicemail in his absence. He frowns and shoves his phone to the foot of the bed, where maybe he won't hear it if he tries hard enough. Over the sound of the rain beating down on the roof, he can barely hear himself think, much less the sounds announcing the arrival of the hero of Neo Olde Tokyo. Satisfied that he's reinforced his solitude, Apollo pulls the blanket back over himself and closes his eyes. It's to the steady beat of the rain that he falls asleep, feeling his lashes wet against his cheeks.

\----

The seventh call comes sometime after dark, when Apollo wakes up, dazed and disoriented. Suddenly there is a loud “GAZEN HERO DA TONOSAMAN” in his ear as he realizes that he's somehow ended up with his head at the foot of the bed. Grumbling, Apollo squints at the screen and sees he has 4 missed calls now. He picks up the phone in a hurry.

“Trucy, I said I would call back later,” he snaps, voice thick with sleep and irritation. There's silence on the other end of the line and he feels bad, because he didn't mean to shut Trucy down, he just...he just needs a break for a minute. Sighing, he switches ears. “I'm sorry, Trucy, we can tal--”

“This is not Trucy.” The voice is quiet, calm. Blinking rapidly, Apollo squints at the screen. It _isn't_ Trucy. It's...

“Prosecutor Gavin?” He fails entirely to keep the surprise out of his voice, but he doesn't think Prosecutor Gavin can begrudge him for being shocked that he, of all people, is calling Apollo today.

“Apollo, I...am standing two blocks away from your home.” Any indication that Prosecutor Gavin ever gives of knowing Apollo's _actual_ name always startles him a little, and today is no different. He's struggling to come up with a sufficient response. He almost wants to comment on how that's not how someone usually starts a conversation, but Prosecutor Gavin sounds so _tired_ that Apollo doesn't really want to say anything at all.

“May I go over?” he asks, and Apollo doesn't even think twice before nodding, until he remembers that Prosecutor Gavin can't actually see him.

“Yeah, I'm on the 5th floor. Um, 509,” he says, sitting up.

All he says is “I'll be there soon” before he hangs up and Apollo runs into the bathroom.

Washing his face and brushing his teeth in record time, he decides that his hair was a toss from the start anyway and tries in vain to hop out of his pajama bottoms. The door bell rings then, he goes to answer the door instead. He idly wonders if he rode his _bike_ here, because the rain doesn't sound like it's let up once all evening, and he can't imagine what it would be like to be outside at all, much less on a motorbike. His questions are answered the minute he sees Klavier Gavin standing in his doorway.

“P-Prosecutor Gavin!” He's dripping, from his hair down to his shoes, where he stands in the hallway, leaning against his doorjamb. Apollo's never seen him looking so tired and world-weary before. His hair clings to his head, and he's soaked through to the bone. “Come in!” he says, noticing the tremble in Klavier's lips, and pulls him inside.

He doesn't resist, letting Apollo pull him into the bathroom and sit him on the edge of the tub, where he swathes him with towels and looks at him, concerned. Prosecutor Gavin makes no motion to begin drying himself off, and Apollo stares expectantly for a long moment, before he starts to work a towel through his hair himself. When he pushes his bangs back, Klavier looks up at him and Apollo realizes that he's _touching_ Prosecutor Gavin, and it occurs to him that all of this probably counts as being _invasive._ He backs away and says loudly “I'll go get some clothes” and takes an extra long time trying to find clothes in his wardrobe that will fit Prosecutor Gavin.

When he comes back with a set of mismatched odds and ends, Prosecutor Gavin is standing in his bathtub, pulling off his shirt and jacket. Apollo feels his face start to burn, so he looks away and leaves the clothes on the counter. “Sorry. I should have knocked,” he apologizes, staring very hard at the linoleum tiling.

Prosecutor Gavin doesn't seem to mind— _of course he doesn't_ , he should have known—when he continues to speak to Apollo like nothing happened. “I'm sorry to have imposed upon you like this,” he says. And he does look genuinely apologetic.

Apollo shrugs. “It's no trouble.” It's not. Really, it's the least that Apollo could do for him, especially after... ( _“I'm sorry, Mr. Gavin, but I have to know the truth!”_ ) after the first trial. “Feel free to use the shower,” he tells him, closing the door behind him.

He relaxes a little as soon as he hears water running in the bathroom. Turning around, he braves the kitchen to scrounge up something more than just tea for his impromptu guest. Fifteen minutes and a thorough investigation of his cabinets later, he's sitting on the couch wondering why he let Mr. Wright eat the last of his Animal Crackers last week.

Not that he can imagine Prosecutor Gavin eating Animal Crackers. Or drinking out of his Doraemon mug. Now that he thinks about it, Apollo doesn't think he can imagine Prosecutor Gavin standing in his tiny studio apartment at all. He feels sheepish when he walks out of the bathroom donned in Apollo's old t-shirt and oversized track shorts. It's so strange to see the worldly Klavier Gavin standing in his home, where the most elaborate thing he can think of is his 3 year old MacBook sitting on the coffee table. He can't stop staring, especially not when Prosecutor Gavin somehow manages to make threadbare look like the next runway statement.

He stares like that for a moment, and the air is quiet until it's not. Prosecutor Gavin opens his mouth. “I left my clothes above the radiator,” he says the same time Apollo asks “Tea?” and they blink at each other before they start to laugh. It starts out tentative and turns into a sincere and shared laugh, and in no time at all Prosecutor Gavin is taking the proffered tea and sitting down next to him. It's not a comfortable silence, but it's not as awkward as he would have thought. He knows he's supposed to say _something_ , but he can't really think of anything.

“Some weather, huh?” he finally manages to say, gesturing out the window before inwardly cringing. Strangers talk about the weather, so do people who don't know what there is to talk about. Apollo hadn't realized that they fell into the latter category.

Prosecutor Gavin nods in agreement, staring at his mug. They sit like that, clock ticking away, before Prosecutor Gavin is putting his mug down. “I should probably get going now,” he announces, looking oddly abashed. Apollo's mildly horrified, because it is literally pouring outside and he doesn't want to imagine what could happen in on the journey between the parking lot outside and Prosecutor Gavin's own driveway.

Giving Prosecutor Gavin a look, he shakes his head. “Yeah, no.” When he raises a brow, Apollo frowns more. “Like actually, _please_ don't do that.”

“It's no trouble.” The worst part is that he looks like he actually believes it.

“It's raining—elephants,” he says, flapping one hand ineffectually. Prosecutor Gavin looks amused, and Apollo is definitely the opposite of that. “I...at the very least, you should stay here until it blows over.”

He raises a brow, smile growing impossibly wider. “Herr Justice, are you propositioning me?” Apollo's own brows threaten to crash into his hairline, and his voice comes out a weird stammer as he tries to refute this accusation. Prosecutor Gavin laughs again. “Don't worry, I would not ask you for your bed,” he informs him.

Apollo pauses, unsure of how to tell him that they're also sitting on it, much less how to ask him to move so he can pull out the mattress. He had hastily folded it up earlier while Prosecutor Gavin was in the shower, stowed away the tear stains on his pillow case with the blankets in the cabinet. After some deliberation, he stands and pushes the coffee table away to the side, making a motion for Prosecutor Gavin to stand. It's easier to show than tell for once, as he stands and lets Apollo rearrange what was once his sofa. When he returns with the bedding, Prosecutor Gavin blinks at him, and Apollo scratches his hair, embarrassed all over again. _Maybe insisting that he stay wasn't such a great idea after all..._

“I think we'll both manage to fit,” he says lightly, handing him a pillow. When the confusion on Prosecutor Gavin's face dissipates, he lets out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding.

He grins at Apollo. “I'm not sure where I'll fit with that massive forehead of yours taking up so much room.”

“You would think that a year of making the same joke would get old,” Apollo mutters, spreading out the blankets.

“But there's so much of it to joke about. I'm only making sure that all existing bases are covered.” Apollo makes a face then. It must amuse Prosecutor Gavin, because this time when he laughs, it sounds like it always does—and he hadn't even realized that he'd _known_ what Prosecutor Gavin's laugh sounded like. He watches him laugh mirthfully, a little awestruck.

And just like that, it almost feels like a normal day. As he stares at their mismatched mugs sitting next to one another, Apollo finds himself wondering what it would be like if this _were_ a normal day. Apollo would come home from work and find Prosecutor Gavin sitting in bed, flipping through various channels on the television and commenting on everyone's hair. It surprises him just how easy it is to imagine that sort of a life. Looking at Prosecutor Gavin, he can't help but think of surreal it seems that they should be sharing this moment now, when all Apollo has been doing the entire stretch of their acquaintance is playing everything close to his chest, afraid to give anything— _everything—_ away.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would be sitting on the same couch as Prosecutor Gavin and drinking tea together, Apollo would have probably—well...he probably would have asked them who the heck that was before giving them a long, long stare. He tells Prosecutor Gavin so, and he gives him a strange smile in return.

“I wouldn't have thought it that strange to drink tea with you,” he says, as open and honest as ever.

Apollo freezes, left speechless in his presence—another thing that fails to change about their acquaintance. He's always scrambling, trying to grab on as the S.S. Klavier takes off of its own accord; he's always trying his hardest to show off, to impress himself in his memory, where he wants to know that he always has a place. It throws him off guard, because he's never wanted to shake up anyone's world like he has Prosecutor Gavin's, and everything is suddenly difficult. Like breathing, especially when Prosecutor Gavin looks at Apollo, all soft lines and open expression. He leans in, close enough that Apollo can feel his eyelashes flutter against his cheek as their breaths mingle, and he _wants—_ has never wanted anything as badly as he wants this.

But then he remembers _why_ he's here at all and turns away. _Time and place, Apollo_. And there's a look on Prosecutor Gavin's face, one that he's never seen there before. It takes him a moment to recognize that it's _insecurity_ ;he thinks he's been _rejected._ Apollo doesn't know if he can rid him of that misconception tonight, or explain himself, so he clears his throat and gets up. “I think it's time for bed,” he says, turning down the lights.

“Right...” Prosecutor Gavin gets under the covers first, and leaves them open for Apollo to join him. He climbs into bed next to him and doesn't jump when his leg brushes Klavier's, cold and smooth against his. He doesn't say anything, so Apollo pretends it didn't happen, pushes it to the back of his mind as he closes his eyes.

“Apollo.”

His eyes snap wide open at that. “Yes?”

He sees Prosecutor Gavin searching for words, before he seems to settle on “Good night.”

“Good night...” he lingers, unsure of _what_ he's supposed to call him now, especially not after all of this. “Good night,” he says finally, trying to smile. In the darkness, he's suddenly unsure if he will be able to resist reaching out to Prosecutor Gavin and kissing him himself. He turns over and clenches his eyes shut, falls asleep like that, with Prosecutor Gavin's breath fanning his nape and Apollo's memory of him crowding his thoughts.

\----

At around 2AM Prosecutor Gavin kicks him in the knee. Apollo's roused from a particularly weird dream where Mr. Hat chased him across the Court House mezzanine while holding a stack of Trucy's trick hats. Prosecutor Gavin seems to be having much less pleasant dreams: he's shifting and there's a furrow in his brow as he mutters “Kristoph” over and over. Apollo pokes his shoulder, tries again when he doesn't wake up.

“Klavier.” He doesn't respond. “Klavier!” Putting a hand on his shoulder, Apollo shakes. A hand grabs at his wrist and Apollo yells, “Prosecutor Gavin!”

He wakes with a start, breathing hard through his nose and staring at Apollo with panicked eyes. It takes him a moment, but Apollo feels relief seep in when he gasps out “Apollo” like it's some sort of lifeline. “I...I'm sorry,” he whispers, finally letting go of Apollo's wrist.

“It's okay, I was just...concerned,” he says, lying back down next to him. Staring at the ceiling, he listens to the pace of Prosecutor Gavin's breath slow back down to a steady inhale and exhale. Opening his mouth, he does the only thing that he can think of and starts to speak. “When I went to my first interview for an internship at Gavin Law Offices, I was so nervous that I poured salt into my coffee instead of sugar.”

Nervously, he steals a glance at Prosecutor Gavin, who gives him an expectant look. Apollo continues. “I didn't want to look like I was wasteful or picky, but I didn't want to give the impression that I was careless enough to make mistakes like that with something as simple as coffee.”

“So what did you do?” Klavier asks, no doubt wondering what his point is.

“I drank all of it,” he says. He grins at his disgusted frown. “And in the middle of the interview, the interviewer noticed at the open salt packet sitting on the tray and looked at it very seriously and asked me if I'd just put salt into my coffee.” Klavier looks at him with a raised brow. “There was no helping it at that point, so I told him the truth.

“Then he looked at me and laughed. I didn't know how to react at all, so I just sat there and tried really hard not to look like a deer in the headlights.”

Klavier is listening in earnest now; Apollo takes a deep breath before finishing. “Then he told me that I seemed like 'a promising young man' and that he wanted to take me on as his student.” He smiles, remembering that interview like it was just yesterday and not years ago. When he looks over at Prosecutor Gavin, he can see him in the dark, wearing a smile of his own.

“It seems your antics have a precedent,” he says, considerably more relaxed than he was five minutes ago.

“They did get me a job,” Apollo concedes, before he tells him about the time that Mr. Gavin let him practice his Chords of Steel routine in the office instead of laughing at him as he expected. And that memory just brings back twenty more—ones about reading Mr. Gavin's case files for the first time, about Mr. Gavin teaching him to sort archives, about the time he tried to cover up switching all the technology in the office to German by accident and watching Mr. Gavin patiently reconfigure the language settings.

Klavier laughs at that last one, the corners of his eyes crinkling with just how hard he laughs. The fact that it's at his own expense doesn't bother him that much, especially not when he says “Thank you.”

Apollo gets tongue-tied. “I—you don' t have to thank me for anything.”

It's Klavier's turn to stare at the ceiling. “I just needed to know that the part of me that thinks 'my brother does not deserve to die' does not make me someone horrible.” His voice is quiet; it's a confession.

He considers his words carefully. “I know that Mr. Gavin...hurt a lot of people,” he says slowly, “but I don't know if we're allowed to say he should die.” It makes him think about what else he thought he used to know about the law.

Then he whispers: “I don't want Mr. Gavin to die either.” It's the first time he's ever let those words pass his lips. It's horrifying and liberating at the same time, because he knows everyone else knows, knows that Mr. Wright knows, but he's been escaping from it for so long that it's become a phantom shadow instead of a truth. The confirmation that he isn't alone helps him breathe easier and relax into his pillow.

Prosecutor Gavin allows himself a smile when he meets Apollo's eyes, but looks lost and alone and confused and hurt. He tries to imagine every other expression he's never seen Klavier make, and finds that he wants nothing more than to make him smile. In the security of the darkness, he lets himself scoot closer and wraps an arm around him, not letting go even when he stiffens and gives Apollo a hesitant look.

A beat passes, and he feels stupid for trying because really, he doesn't know a single thing about comforting people or receiving hugs, much less giving them. He only stops pulling away when he feels fingers fist his shirt, a wordless request. Swallowing, Apollo curls back around him, tucks himself in next to Prosecutor Gavin, figuring out where they fit together. This isn't even close to what he needs and Apollo isn't sure if anyone can give him that now, but it's still something that only _he_ can do in this moment, so Apollo holds him tight.

They stay like that for a while, listening to the quiet ins and outs of the other's breaths as they fall into a slow, sleepy rhythm.

“You're a good person, Forehead,” Klavier says suddenly. He wasn't expecting that, but the silence is comfortable and all they have is time, so Apollo gives himself time to deliberate.

“It isn't an entirely self-sacrificing act,” he answers finally; it would be a little too easy if he could say 'you're welcome' like anyone else could.

There's a puff of air against his neck. “I didn't want to be...alone, and before I realized what I was doing, I was dialing your number,” he murmurs, and Apollo stops breathing. “You were the first person I thought of.”

His heart swells and cracks and overflows and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with that. Taking a shuddery breath, he presses a kiss to Klavier's forehead. He isn't sure he's ready to know what sort of an expression he's making right then, so Apollo closes his eyes and pretends he's asleep, forcing himself to take slow, even breaths when he feels lips brush against his cheeks. Apollo doubts he's fooling anyone, but he isn't complaining when Klavier lets their fingers and legs tangle before they fall into their dreams together.

And tomorrow, he'll wake up with Klavier in his arms, and he'll realize that he's the happiest he's been in a long, long time.

\----

\--

-


End file.
